


you have my heart

by thimble



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: “I know you’re there,” she says, and through her still hands and steady gaze, she's prepared to reach for the letter opener in her peripheral. Not quite as sharp as she’d like, but sharp enough, with enough pressure and conviction.“Isn’t that just the relief,” comes the voice of one Claude von Riegan, and it comes as a shock to neither of them. “I’d hate to find that you’ve gotten sloppy.”The night Claude visits is dark and quiet; Edelgard's heart is anything but.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	you have my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strikinglight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight/gifts).
  * Inspired by [how little they told us about fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763172) by [strikinglight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight/pseuds/strikinglight). 



> Different year, same bullshit. Happy birthday, Meg ♡

And I'll play the fool and lean into you  
Whatever this is, whatever we are _  
  
_ — Emily Sage, _You Have My Heart_

* * *

Ruefully, she recognizes the footsteps behind her.

Edelgard holds the belief that instinct is honed rather than innate, and holds it in the way she tends to hold anything—steadfastly, though many might find the notion contrary. There is always a step further to be taken, despite what someone is born with, because birth is not the only deciding factor in who lives and who dies.

Contrary as this might be, it falls, in the way a loyal soldier would, neatly in line with the rest of her bearing. The next surprise in her arsenal, perhaps mystifying those who think her naught but a tyrant crushing everyone else under her heel, is that she uses this instinct to attune herself to the particulars of those within her close circle, her subordinates only in name. 

All of them are equal, including herself, and thus equally tools at her disposal, should the need arise. Of course, it’s prudent to familiarize herself with her tools.

More prudent still, are the few she would not freely admit to knowing so well—or having paid attention to, so well—only because admitting it would hold a torchlight up to parts of herself she’d rather keep in the dark.

“I know you’re there,” she says, simply, though her hands on the desk have stilled, and though her gaze remains on the document she was penning, every nerve of hers readies themselves to reach for the letter opener in her peripheral. Not quite as sharp as she’d like, but sharp enough, with enough pressure and conviction.

Both of which she has in abundant supply.

“Isn’t that just the relief,” comes the voice of one Claude von Riegan, and it comes as a shock to neither of them. “I’d hate to find that you’ve gotten sloppy.”

But the confirmation is not without misgivings, bringing new fears to the forefront. Her tone is as cold as her insides suddenly feel, as subtly damp as her palms suddenly get. “My guards... did you—?”

“I poisoned them, if that’s what you mean,” says Claude, though his follow-up is faster than Edelgard’s reflexes when she’s able to stand, sharp object in hand, barely slower than a heartbeat.

His smile is warm, made warmer by the candle glow, when their eyes finally meet. “Relax, princess. It wasn’t a lethal dose. They’ll be waking up shortly, likely after the most restful sleep they’ve had in a while. I don’t doubt you’ve been working them to the bone.”

“How I run my troops is none of your concern.” A part of her wants to relinquish the knife, illogical as it is to hold on to it. A blade so small wouldn’t give her the advantage in a brawl with Claude, and the less rational but just as well-informed part knows that whatever fight Claude wants to pick with her wouldn’t take place in her quarters past midnight. 

Unfortunately, as much as she wants to be, or as much as her allies and enemies alike think her to be, not all her actions are rooted in logic. Pettiness, to her, is as potent a driving force when she harkens back to the seconds prior, of having been led to believe, even if just for a moment, that she had lost some of her best men. 

Falling for Claude and his many tricks is not an unfamiliar feeling. She wants to think it would be the last time, or better yet, to think herself as someone who would from today on be immune, but sowing the seed of one such hope is its own kind of trickery.

“I’d say the way you’re running your troops—and the war, in general—should be of everyone’s concern.” Claude’s smile is always playful, but not always just playful. It dances out the shape of exactly what he means, even if not the shape of his intentions. 

“I suppose that’s why you’re here, then.” She turns away, miserly wishing it was in her nature to appear deceptively casual, or to succeed outright at deception, as she organizes her desk. Claude’s image conjures itself in her mind as she does so, setting it beside the image of Claude from their Academy days, so well-remembered she could have probably drawn a portrait of it from memory—though it’s not as if her talents could have ever been spent on trivialities.

It’s not as if he possessed enough stillness within himself to sit for her, even for one afternoon, anyway.

He’s taller, and his hair is longer, and he’s filled out the breadth of his shoulders. All rather standard for a boy growing into a man, but his smile is the same. Still as warm as the sun, still as terrifying as its reflection on an insincerely shallow sea.

Claude’s smile is the same and Edelgard hasn’t seen him in five whole years and she doesn’t want to look at him, so she doesn’t.

“Can’t the leaders of two embittered factions have an innocent conversation once in a blue moon, old friend to old friend?” It’s a joke, but not even Claude laughs to fill the silence before Edelgard’s blunt-edged, “No.”

Whether she means _no, they can’t_ or _no, you’re not my friend_ , _I don’t know what you are_ , is left entirely for Claude to decide. As Edelgard expected, he skips expertly over the trap she’d laid in their verbal bout.

“I’m afraid I don’t have answers for you. I don’t know why I’m here either.”

As Edelgard should have expected, she’s the one who trips instead over his suddenly—but perhaps not inexpertly—unsheathed honesty.

“You can’t be talked down because that’s not who you are. Whatever moves you’re currently making on the board, you set them in motion before anyone even thought you a serious player.” He’s right and they both know it; it’s not a full disclosure but it’s as complete a sentiment as it needs to be. “Hey, maybe I just wanted to see if you’ve grown even an inch taller after five years.”

An archive’s worth of words in a single breath, a joke that isn’t a joke. When she faces him again, there’s an invitation in his outstretched hand and an absence of a smile on his mouth.

“Don’t worry; this isn’t a peace offering,” he says, despite how he surprises her, one last time, when instead of a shake, he folds his fingers around hers and bends down, slightly but significantly, to kiss the back of her hand.

_It’s an ending._

Of something that had never begun; of the meticulous portraits of him she would have drawn, of visits to the ocean she would not have feared; of the boy and the girl they once were. 

Of the candle slowly extinguishing on her desk, pleading to be replaced, that will provide the only darkness he would need to slip away unseen.

“I’ll be seeing you, Claude,” she says, quiet and poignant but not soft, never soft, as she commits this version of him to memory before the shadows, as shadows do, eventually drown them both.

**Author's Note:**

> pls commiserate with my newfound edelgard problem at [twitter](https://twitter.com/fightsgod) if u are so inclined


End file.
